


nothing else will do (i've gotta have you)

by torchsong (brella)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: First Kiss, Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2021-01-22 18:22:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21306500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brella/pseuds/torchsong
Summary: Tadashi likes Tsukishima so much right then that it feels like that, too, might kill him.He laughs against the heel of his palm, and then starts crying a little instead, but he hopes Tsukishima doesn’t notice.“Yamaguchi, don’t cry.” Ah.
Relationships: Tsukishima Kei/Yamaguchi Tadashi
Comments: 10
Kudos: 236





	nothing else will do (i've gotta have you)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Marks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marks/gifts), [ravyn_ashling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravyn_ashling/gifts).

> This was for a kissing meme on Ye Olde Writing Twitter, and both Marks and Ginny prompted Tsukkiyama + a kiss because they're running out of time. Within seconds of each other, actually. 
> 
> I am sharing it here at the request of the lovely Yanka. /o/

Tadashi has been crossing off the days on his Doraemon desk calendar, and as of this particular autumn morning the number of them remaining before his and Tsukishima’s last day in Miyagi all fit on one page. The to-do list at the top—three dotted lines, as if all anyone will need to do in a month are three things—is blank, but the to-do list in Tadashi’s head is not. The list in Tadashi’s head goes like this: pack his big green suitcase. Heat up the curry in the freezer before it goes bad. Kiss Tsukishima. 

“What are you so depressed for?” Tsukishima asks. 

They’re sitting on Tadashi’s back porch, sharing a bag of Jagabee fries and watching the leaves drop from the magnolia. Tadashi mumbles back, unconvincingly, “I’m not depressed.” 

Tsukishima sighs through his nose, because his mouth is closed tight around a Jagabee fry, which protrudes like the stick of a lollipop. He’s leaning back on both palms. His black t-shirt looks nice on him, the way all things look nice on Tsukishima. Tadashi looks over at him for a moment, and then down at his hands, wrung between his knees. 

“Sorry, Tsukki,” he says quietly. “I’m just—” He casts around for a good way to say it, a way that doesn’t involve saying, _I want to kiss you_. “Going to miss this.” 

Tsukishima’s voice moves slow. “Miss what?” 

“I don’t know,” Tadashi says, feeling stupid. “Home. You. I don’t know.” 

“Me?” Tsukishima scoffs. “We’re going to the same university, Yamaguchi.” 

Tadashi groans, thinking in ten different directions about the new friends Tsukishima will probably make and the new things Tsukishima will probably learn and the dates Tsukishima is probably going to go on with someone who isn’t him. He tips over backwards, splaying out onto the porch and gazing forlornly at the overhang.

“That’s not what I mean,” he says, covering his face with both hands when he hears how pitiful his voice sounds. “I just. I don’t know. Sorry, Tsukki.” 

Tsukishima hums noncommittally in lieu of an answer, though Tadashi doesn’t know what answer he expects. 

Tsukishima’s hair is longer than it’s ever been. Tadashi could comb a set of fingers through it if he wanted to; he could brush it back or pull it. In the day’s excess, sinking golden on Tadashi’s street, it seems to emanate an impossible glow, but maybe that’s just Tsukishima. Maybe that’s the firefly in him. 

Maybe the curry can wait. Maybe Tadashi’s big green suitcase, still empty, can wait. 

“Tsukki, do you ever feel like,” he mumbles through his fingers, “you want something so much you might—die?” 

“Die from what?” Tsukishima asks very plainly. “From wanting it? Not really.” 

“No, not from—wanting it,” Tadashi says. “From… not having it, I guess. Or… well, I don’t know.” His voice gets smaller, smaller. “Maybe from wanting it.” 

Tsukishima is quiet for a while. Tadashi is used to Tsukishima being quiet—he’s used to the shape of it, and the way that it breathes—so it doesn’t bother him. It’s reassuring, in its way. It means that Tsukishima’s thinking, which Tadashi is also used to. 

“Maybe you should die of something cooler,” he finally says, with the particular drawl that lets Tadashi know he’s trying to be funny—no—that he’s trying to make him feel better. “Like fighting a velociraptor.”

Tadashi likes Tsukishima so much right then that it feels like that, too, might kill him. 

He laughs against the heel of his palm, and then starts crying a little instead, but he hopes Tsukishima doesn’t notice. 

“Yamaguchi, don’t cry.” Ah. 

“Sorry, Tsukki.” 

Tsukishima sighs, and then Tadashi hears a weight hit the wood beside him, and the air feels suddenly fuller. He tries to subtly wipe the tears off on the back of his arm when he slips it away, rolling his head to the side. 

Tsukishima is propped up on his elbow, looking down at Tadashi through pale lashes, pensive eyes. Yachi would yell at him for letting his bangs cover his face while he’s sweating. _You’ll get breakouts, Kei-kun_. 

“Tell me, then,” he says, as briskly as he would if he was telling Tadashi to get a nice serve. 

Tadashi frowns. “Tell you what?” 

Tsukishima shrugs the shoulder that isn’t holding him up. “What it is you want so badly.” 

Tadashi opens his mouth, waiting for a word to form. _Tell me to tell you what I want again_, he almost says, breathless with wonder. 

“Tsukki,” he manages to put together, “I want…” 

Tsukishima searches his face for only a moment. Tadashi thinks that the sun goes down beyond the mountain. He thinks that the moon is already rising, starless and alone. 

Tsukishima moves over, puts one hand next to Tadashi’s head, his palm flat on the wood. His eyes flick up and down, to Tadashi’s lips and back again. His brow tenses. Second-guessing. 

Tadashi pushes himself up a little awkwardly, on the elbows, until his fingers curl in midair. He kisses Tsukishima gently, with his eyes half-open, and at the simple contact and the taste of salt he feels alive. Undying, maybe. Like his heart beats loud and hard enough to last for four lifetimes, at least. Maybe more. 

He pulls back a little when his neck starts feeling stiff, taking in the changes on Tsukishima’s face. So it’s not the most graceful kiss, Tadashi thinks, but it’s a kiss—it’s just what he wanted. And Tsukishima’s cheeks are pink. So pink. 


End file.
